The air in the Bilgewater Cartel’s workshop was thick with the acrid tang of oil and the sharp bite of ozone, a familiar symphony to Gazlowe’s keen senses.
The Trade Prince hunched over his latest contraption, his grease-stained fingers deftly tightening a series of copper bolts along the chassis of a mechanized shredder. Sparks erupted from a nearby arcane welder as one of his engineers worked on reinforcing the machine’s hydraulic joints, the rhythmic hiss of steam pistons filling the cluttered space.
The Trade Prince hunched over his latest contraption, his grease-stained fingers deftly tightening a series of copper bolts along the chassis of a mechanized shredder. Sparks erupted from a nearby arcane welder as one of his engineers worked on reinforcing the machine’s hydraulic joints, the rhythmic hiss of steam pistons filling the cluttered space.